Chapter 14
Daywork
“What are you working on?”
Startled, Tristana looked up, seeing Peter standing in her bathroom doorway.
She hadn’t seen him much over the last week, delving into her work the minute she had gotten home from seeing Jared and Chastity off at the airport. It must have felt like a sudden change to Peter after they had been so close and had so much fun before and while Chastity had stayed with them. However, it couldn’t have been helped. Work took her mind off the loss she always felt at their departure.
Visits from Jared and Chastity were always bittersweet for her. They represented a time in her life that she would love nothing more than to forget. At the same time, Jared was the nicest, most loving and selfless person she had ever met, and Chastity was the sweetest child. It was sad to admit, but she was closer to that little girl than anyone. No one could make her smile and laugh as much. She felt alive when the little girl was present. She felt free, happy, and complete when Chastity was with her. And when she left, it was like she took the sun with her, leaving her despairing in darkness.
“Do you want to see?” she asked Peter, distracting herself from those dark thoughts.
“That’s why I asked.” Such a smartass.
“No. I mean, do you want to see it from the start?”
Peter just looked at her, puzzled.
“I have to go to New York next week. Apparently, Claire Gish is a huge fan and personally asked me to create her husband’s next album’s cover art.” Tristana couldn’t contain her own excitement. Looking Backward was her most favorite band in the entire universe. She secretly hoped she got to personally meet Noah Gish, the lead singer, and she prayed she didn’t make a fool out of herself if she did.
Peter whistled in appreciation. “I didn’t know your work was like that,” he said in admiration, glancing at the picture she had up on her screen.
Tristana nodded, laughing at the starstruck look he sported. “Do you want to come with me?”
“Hell yeah!” he exclaimed, standing up straight before his shoulders slouched in realization. “Shit. I gotta finish that report.” He started walking back through the bathroom, calling out, “If you don’t hear from me in a few days, break into my room and resuscitate me.”
Tristana laughed as he disappeared.
She was grateful that he had distracted her. Ms. Diana had been adamant about the pool idea and had asked her to orchestrate it, hoping it would bring longer-staying tenants like her and Peter. Tristana loved the idea. In the summer months, a pool would be such a relief.
They were a good forty minutes from the beach, and most vacationers preferred to stay at the oceanfront. However, they were located near some historical sites, something that appealed to academics. They rarely got any, yet, after canvassing a battlefield all day, the thought of a cool pool could possibly draw more in, especially if they brought children with them.
Right this minute, there was a group of men digging a hole in the backyard. Now that it was almost noon, she thought she should check the progress and make nice with them by bringing them something cool to drink and maybe offer to buy lunch in the hopes they finish faster so she could take a swim before the cooler months were upon them.
That was one of Ms. Diana’s quirks. Instead of waiting until the spring when most pools were installed before the summer months, she had insisted now was the right time. That way, she could admire it all winter long and imagine the laughter and splashes that would fill the air before it became a reality. Oh, and she also added that she hoped Peter imagined Tristana in her bikini and that would entice him to stay.
Stretching until a groan broke free, Tristana got up, grabbed her camera, and then made her way downstairs. Maybe the idea of offering pictures for their portfolio would encourage them to move even faster. If she could dive into the waters within a week, she would even offer Peter’s web design services for free.
She laughed at that thought until she found Ms. Diana fast asleep in her favorite chair, a book opened in her lap and her tea cold on the side table. Not wanting to disturb her, she quietly made her way down the hall to the back of the house, through the butler’s pantry, and into their old kitchen.
Looking out the back window, she watched as one man maneuvered the excavator while the others stood around and watched. Ms. Diana had requested that the dirt be piled up near the woods, no doubt scheming up something she could have Peter do with it. She had been running him ragged with her honey-do lists. She had to admit, though, the house had never looked so good. He had already filled in the potholes throughout the long driveway and had promised to repaint the exterior of the house if he was still here come spring. Jared had promised to have someone talk kitchen remodels with her, but Ms. Diana was hesitant about that. She loved the kitchen as it was. Tristana had to admit she did, too.
Filling glasses with lemonade, Tristana lined them up on a serving tray before juggling them outside, keeping her eyes on the glasses to make sure she didn’t spill a drop.
Halfway across the demolished yard, she looked up to see all construction had stopped and all eyes were on her. She glanced down, belatedly realizing she still wore her obscenely short sleep shorts. At least she had put on a bra under her loose-fitting band tee-shirt that she had discovered at a trendy secondhand store.
Shrugging her blunder off, she stopped in front of the foreman. “Thought you guys could use something cold to drink.”
~~~~~
Peter stood at the end of the hall, looking out the window and seeing Tristana still out there, still talking to the men. As soon as he had heard her leave her room and not come back, he had stood here and waited. Twenty minutes later, he was still spying on her.
He had watched as she had taken pictures of the men. One working the excavator, a pile of dirt in its bucket. Two others had been holding shovels, pretending to dig. He thought those two had looked stupid. Then she had taken several shots of the foreman. Some with him holding his clipboard, pointing like he was giving orders. Some with the men grouped around him. He knew they were supposed to be candid shots, yet the men couldn’t seem to help practically preening for the camera.
Now all the men were gathered around her, holding their glasses yet not drinking. It made Peter irrationally jealous. He knew Tristana and he were nothing more than friends. Couldn’t be. At the same time, they had grown closer over the past couple of months. He thought he had been making some headway with her. Now she appeared to be flirting with five men.
When Tristana turned to head back inside, tucking the now empty tray under her arm, Peter blew out the stress watching her interact with them had caused.
The men were all heading back to their jobs when one of them turned back, daring to follow her and touch her arm. He saw her demeanor switch. It caused Peter to jump into action. He took the cramped back stairway that led right into the kitchen and was out the back door in less than ten seconds.
Standing on the wide back porch, he saw the man still had his hand on Tristana. He couldn’t see her face, yet he could tell by the way she held herself that tension was rippling through her body. Peter did a have a clear view of the man’s face, which wore a leer as he caressed her body with his eyes.
Peter was once again on the move, making his way down the rotting steps that needed to be replaced. Then he came to a standstill when a smack rang out.
She had moved so fast he had missed it. From where he stood, though, twenty yards away, he could see the handprint blooming red on the man’s face.
“What the hell is going on over there?” the foreman called out.
“I want this man off my property,” Tristana called out to him, arms folded defiantly across her chest as she glared at the man she had slapped.
Peter stopped behind her at the same time the foreman reached them.
“What did you do to her?” the boss man asked his employee.
The man raised his hands in surrender. “Noth—”
“He propositioned me for sex, and not in a nice way. When I told him no, he hurt me.” She turned her body, showing the foreman the red fingermarks on her arm where the man’s hand had been on her.
Boss man took one look at the marks and whirled around on his employee. “You’re fired! Pack up your shit and don’t come back.” The man started walking away as the boss followed him, yelling, “You’ll be lucky if you get a fucking cent in your last check! Shit, you’ll be lucky if no charges are brought up against you …” The boss continued his tirade as he followed the man, making sure he left with his belongings.
Peter still stood behind Tristana, taking in her demeanor, watching as she rubbed the spot that would surely bruise her delicate skin.
“Asshole,” she muttered as she turned around and finally spotted Peter. Her eyes widened before she narrowed them. “Don’t give me shit right now, okay? I know you want to judge me; tell me I shouldn’t have come out here looking like this.” She gestured down at the bare expanse of her legs before angrily crossing her arms over her chest, daring him to scold her.
Peter didn’t follow her motion, focusing on her face, her eyes. Something had changed. She wasn’t the sweet girl she had been over the past month. She was the bitter girl he had first met.
“Come here,” he told her, stepping forward with his arms out.
She simply glared at him, not budging.
Peter sighed, taking another step forward and folding his arms around her rigid body. She kept her arms crossed tightly against her between them.
“It’s okay to be mad.”
She shook her head. He sensed that she was grinding her teeth, fighting not to say anything.
“It’s okay to be angry. Just like it was okay to slap that asshole for thinking he could put his hands on you.”
She huffed out a breath, sounding miffed, yet he felt her relax. Then she dropped her head to his chest, her arms still crossed in front of her.
“You want to go punch the bag?”
She shook her head against his chest. Then she slipped her arms from their folded position and wrapped them around him.
He tightened his arms around her, looking at the men who were ping-ponging their heads back and forth, alternating between watching them and the boss and ex-employee.
When he heard her sigh, he dropped his head onto hers, finding contentment in making her content. He felt his own body relax its tension from the encounter.
After standing there for a few minutes, Tristana lifted her head to look up at him. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he replied. “You had the situation handled.”
She stared into his eyes, looking from one to the other. Finally, she said, “Not as much as you think. Thank you for pulling me back.”
He quirked a brow. “Could have fooled me. You have a mean … mean face.”
Tristana laughed, stepping out of his hold and picking up the dropped tray before taking his hand. “Come on. You need to get back to work if you’re gonna come to New York with me.”